Moonlit Tales
by WolfPhantoms
Summary: Saska is on the run, not only from the imminent destruction from dragons, but also the violence of her past. With the distrust of the Companions and no pack to call her own, she must prove she can survive the harshness of Skyrim. She can only hope that her true nature remains caged when the Dovahkiin is summoned and she must answer the call.


The soft green hues of the auroral display weaved amongst the stars as the adventurer carefully picked her way from the cave into the bright, fresh night. The jolt of air tingled her exposed skin, but the leather armor held steadfast against the wintry chill and gave her enough support to carry on.

Saska had surveyed the tunnels easily enough, though the entire endeavor had been a time consuming adventure with skeevers, bandits, and even the mythical draugr. The adventurer shuddered, but not from the night's cold. The undead had been her last hurdle and she was returning triumphant with a golden claw in her pack and some valuables stowed for personal use.

With a wary glance at the moon, she set off along the bouldered path. Stones scattered beneath her feet to chip and clink swiftly down the hill, only to cause her skin to stand on end. Her senses reached out into the grasping darkness for any sign of a predator seeking the source of the noise, but all that returned was the bubbling of the nearby brook. Satisfied that she was alone, she picked her way back to Riverwood and the impatiently awaiting client.

How Saska had agreed to aiding a merchant, she couldn't fathom. Perhaps it was the way the argument carried when she stepped into his little shop, or it was how desperate he sounded at the loss of something so precious. Either way, her choice was to aid rather than ignore and it paid off with a bounty of expensive gems, a few useful poisons and potions, as well some well-made weapons.

"Better be worth some coin," Saska murmured to herself as she wandered past an old woman's hut. At this time of night, she was well in bed and the adventurer could see her hunched form beneath furs through the unprotected window. Just a little further and she too, could sleep her worries away for the time being. It had been too long already and she could feel the exhaustion slithering into the bones of her legs and arms.

A caribou stood ahead, grazing with the elegant air of royalty. The adventurer had no time to stop and while her stomach growled, she could only promise herself something later. She needed to move on, the entirety of Skyrim could be at stake with the return of dragons. She swallowed hard and tucked ebony strands back behind an ear.

Riverwood was at peace in the dark. There were no murmurs of life besides the restlessness of cattle and other livestock. Standing before the door to the little shop, the adventurer paused The golden claw was worth quite a bit of coin, to be sure. Being new to the area, no one would ever remember her name if they came looking and the claw could mean a hot meal and possibly a bed for the night. The moment the thought crossed her mind, she mentally kicked herself. Digging through her belongings, Saska pulled the gaudy thing from her pack and gave it one last glance. She would be fine on her own, even if it meant selling the pelts of her kills. With her home gone, there was no hope, but to start from scratch and pray to the divines that all would be well.

The owner's face lit as she stepped through the threshold and his hands reached out as if he were a mere child. "You found it! Here, I'll put this back where it belongs. I'll never forget this!" He snatched it from her and with a gentle gaze and deft hand, he returned it to the center of his countertop.

"Huh, strange… It looks smaller than it did before," he murmured as he studied it. Saska scowled, jerking her head away in disgust and loosening her hair from the tie of leather for it to play in her face. Figured. All that trudging through darkness and filth and _he_ was worried about size.

"What do you have to sell?" She prompted, ignoring his complaint for the sake of dignity. It certainly taught her not to have faith in the egos of men. However, the negotiations for different prices proved to be more difficult than she had first assumed. Many of the items, flawless gems the size of her palm, leather armors, and the occasional sword were sold for displeasingly lower amounts. Nevertheless, it was enough coin in her pocket for a few nights at the inn while she conversed with the Jarl about giant, winged lizards.

Once Saska had lightened her load and kept only what was needed, she again headed out in the direction of Whiterun, but this time chose the main path rather than toward the Barrow. There had been enough draugr for one night. With the road to follow, there was little to observe beside a few grazing deer and a startled wolf or two. Neither creature took any particular interest in a yellow-eyed woman striking off on her own nor did they seem threatened in any way. Perhaps her hunger wasn't exactly showing through. Perhaps she was simply too hungry for them to care.

The walls of Whiterun were a welcoming sight as the sun began to peak over the mountains. The view was certainly breathtaking to behold and she was anxious to arrive. However, she froze as the ground vibrated beneath her and she could hear the grunts and battle-cries of someone new. Her casual walk swiftly turned into a frantic gallop as she approached one of the outlying farms and an injured, but angry giant. His tree trunk of a mallet gouged new trenches into the cabbage field and dirt splattered with every heavy step. Beneath his feet danced three warriors in the battle of death. A woman with a bow stood apart from the two others as she fired shot after shot into the giant's think hide. While he already looked stricken with death's shadows, Saska barely hesitated and cocked an arrow. A moment later, her shot whisked through the air and struck him right through the ribs; blood seeping thickly from the wound.

The giant immediately collapsed with a soft groan, his corpse a mangled mess. The two sword-arms, tough and barbaric, sheathed their weapons and openly stared at her while the woman approached. Her overwhelming stench followed and Saska flared her nostrils at the smell. This woman certainly loved tending to her hounds or either recently dealt with curing some hides.

The hunter also paused on her trek halfway, her eyes narrowing as she tilted her head. With a wince, Saska realized she was downwind and the perfect distance for her secret to be blown.

"Ria, return to Jorrvaskr and share our victory." The other woman grumbled, but slowly began heading up the hill toward town. Once she was far from earshot, they returned to scrutinizing each other.

"You're a werewolf," the green-clad woman hissed, her grip tightening against her bow. "What are you doing in the territory of the Companions?"

"I am here on my own terms," She responded carefully, struggling to maintain the edge in her voice. Only a few hunters and fellow werewolves ever learned of her secret, and it then became her challenge to decipher the two. While Saska's own eyes were a golden bronze and bright like those of a true wolf, this woman had an icy blue stare that made it difficult to tell. At least there was no silver strung to her hip...

"I am Aela the huntress and you are passing through _our territory_, now you tell me why you are here or I'll stick an arrow through your hide."

"Tell me, Aela," Saska tasted the name, her legs trembling in an ache for combat. "Are you a huntress of sword or fang?"

"Depends on the prey," Aela responded quietly, her grip constricting on the smooth curve of the bow.

So, she too was a werewolf. The knowledge did little to soothe Saska's nerves. Werewolves were fickle creatures and from her own experience, the line between friend and foe could easily blur with the passing wind. Straightening herself, she carefully stowed her bow at her back. In a fight, Saska always preferred fang. They were the tools she knew how to wield perfectly. "I'm here to speak to the Jarl. What I do with my time here is none of your business unless I choose to eat the people of Whiterun. So you either leave me be or pray to the divines that I grant you a swift death."

The large man behind Aela chuckled. "I like her," he announced and smirked even more. Saska resisted the smirk, but the warmth that spread outward was involuntary. Her bluffs rarely received any appreciation as they lacked finesse entirely. However, one could definitely appreciate the humor...

Aela barely blinked at his remark and simply crossed her arms. "Before we let you into the city, you will meet Kodlak. He will tell us what to do with you, Outsider."

"So now I need the blessing of this 'Kodlak' to access the city?" Saska seethed, stepping forward toward Aela. "Unless he is the Jarl, he doesn't hold those rights."

"_You_ are not the average traveller," Aela replied readily, moving swiftly toward the path to Whiterun. She pointed an unprotected digit at the bulky male. "Farkas, watch her. Make sure she doesn't get into the city until Kodlak gets here. Got it, ice brain?"

He nodded his head, but never broke contact with Saska as the huntress wandered back toward the walled city. The small part of her that lacked any sort of warrior's honor regretted choosing Whiterun as a destination. The rest was simply seething in the most dignified way possible.

Standing amongst the cabbage, Saska sighed. Not exactly how she wanted to have her morning. Her stomach caved and rumbled pitifully, reminding her that what she truly wanted was a hot meal and possibly an equally hot bath.

"Where are you from?" The man, Farkas, rumbled. He casually leaned against the fence post behind him, supporting his weight with burly arms. He was a pure warrior, through and through; thick with muscle and dented with scars. His eyes were icy, but calculating as he observed her and it was then Saska realized the musky smell was not remnants of Aela's stench, but rather his own. She was in the presence of another werewolf from Aela's pack - his eyes the only marker of resemblance. Her stomach twisted and the desire for food momentarily vanished. If she had chosen to strike, she would have died a squealing animal against the fangs of two...

"Nowhere," she replied cautiously, feeling herself fidget uncomfortably and it wasn't specifically from the itchy, hide armor she donned.

"Where is the rest of your bloodkin?"

Saska swallowed, "Dead."

"How?"

"Dead is dead. What does it matter?" She snarled, feeling herself struggle to keep the memories buried. How often did she wish there were still others to match her eyes? She didn't want to remember. Ever. Spinning on her heel, she marched for the stables outside of Whiterun. The beautiful Norikers inside the stables cried out as her scent wafted through the area, but instead of wallowing in the surge of power, she continued up the path. Behind her, she could hear Farkas following at a casual and almost bored gait. As she crossed over the drawbridge to what she hoped was decent civilization, Farkas crashed into her with the weight of a stone wall.

Together, they tumbled over the bridge railing into the creek below in a mass of armor and flesh. Saska cried out as she smashed against the creekbed with stones digging into her spine and water soaking the hides of her armor. With the aid of a heavy kick to his metal chestplate, Farkas rolled away and stood, shaking away the loose water.

"Aela said y'aren't supposed to go in yet." He stated sternly, ducking under the bridge to settle himself in the pebbled shoreline.

The female werewolf gasped for the air she had lost in the fall and released a quiet moan. Pain tingled the nerves around her spine and she tenderly rolled to one side. Farkas grunted and his large hand grabbed her elbow to yank her upright. She yelped, but settled next to him as she checked for anything other than bruises and sore muscles.

"Y'know, you don't smell like a clan I know," he continued.

"I wouldn't," she ground out, pounding the hard leather of her tunic to chase out the lingering water. Already, the wintery chill of Skyrim was causing a few shivers from her arms.

The remainder of their time spent together was in silence. Saska closed her eyes and simply listened to the world above her. Exhaustion was beginning to take it's toll, and yet she couldn't find the moment to relax. The beast blood surged through her veins with the wariness of new surroundings. Farkas was breathing heavily beside her and when she stole a glance in his direction, he was watching her intently.

Settling back against the curve of the bridge, Saska accepted her untimely fate, though only briefly. Whether this Kodlak wanted her dead or not, she wouldn't be able to last long in the harsh wild of civilization without the coin to pay for food or drink. Adventuring would only be able to do so much without the support of a Jarl or a sponsor.

The seamed fingers of a glove carefully brushed the low bangs accenting the curve of her throat and her eyes snapped open. Farkas' hand hovered over the slender scar that ran from the skin of her ear down to her lower jaw. His eyes wavered between her own gaze and that of the silvery repaired skin. Her teeth clenched as he cupped her throat to turn her head left and right with a gentle jerk of his thumb. She wanted to pummel him, but the dire news for the Jarl kept her in check. She needed to maintain her good behavior or she really would discover the other end of a werewolf's jaw.

"From a hunter's knife," he mused quietly. It wasn't a question. She barely nodded, as much as she could with his gauntlets at her neck. His face drew close to her own and she could feel his hot breath bristling against the exposed skin of her cheek.

Mayhap she had spent too long alone; without a pack to care for. Or, perhaps she had forgotten what the touch of another felt like. Nevertheless, her stomach clenched and warmed at his touch… against her wishes. Farkas froze, as if sensing the jolt through the contact between them, and the two stared at each other with his hands wrapping her throat.

"What have you here, Farkas?" A rough male voice asked and she nearly jumped to her feet. His beard was speckled with grey and he wore ornate armor with the face of a fierce wolf. Behind him, another man in the wolf armor stood with a scowl, but reminded her more of a child's pout. The familial resemblance between Farkas and the other was uncanny. Farkas pulled away and stood with arms crossed over his broad chest.

"A werewolf," Farkas prompted, his husky voice filled with pride.

"Aela already informed me of the details of our guest," he said kindly, stepping into the bridge and blocking out the new day's glow. "So, from what clan do you hail newcomer?"

She remained quiet, keeping her eyes low. "I want access to Whiterun to speak to the Jarl."

"I believe the Jarl is in our territory and unless we grant you access, you'll have to remain here," the older werewolf chuckled. The newcomer's skin bristled as she glanced between the admiration on Farkas' face to the weathered skin of the man before her. Certainly, this could only mean she was in the presence of this 'Kodlak'.

"Do you hold such pleasant hospitality to all of your visitors?" She spat, her brow furrowing in disgust. Her blood boiled and seethed in the waves of a storm. She was going to snap.

Kodlak refused to even twitch and the corners of his lip curved upwards. "Why yes, the werewolves always receive our warmest welcome."

Saska's eyes narrowed and she felt rage bubbling to her surface. "I _will_ enter Whiterun." Too long had she patiently waited for food, warmth, and even sleep. The lack thereof only awoke the subdued chaos inside. The beast wanted out.

She slowly stood, feeling bones splinter and readjust. The world began to shrink as she stretched to her full height beneath the bridge. Her clothes shattered and any belongings in her pack - coins, baubles, and weapons - crashed to the stream at her feet. The bright golden eyes were the only remaining feature of her humanity, but now they were wedged neatly above a slathering muzzle.

Kodlak's smile widened as he allowed his eyes to travel up her muscled form. Unlike the forms of his Companions, her fur was a light grey and a lot thicker than what he was used to seeing in the lands of Skyrim. Vilkas and Farkas stood readily available, but he could see the confusion in their eyes as they awaited his orders or their new visitor's first attack, whichever came first.

"Ah, I see. You hail from the mountains."

She stood, breathing heavily and snarling at him just as Farkas slowly withdrew his sword, as thick as his arm. Her ears flattened firmly against the wolf's wide skull and she spun toward the young brother. But, to his surprise, she relaxed as she met Farkas' stare and seemed hesitant to move forward with any of her rage.

"Easy Farkas," Kodlak laughed, regaining her attention. He held up his gloved hands with another brief chuckle.

"Where is she from, Kodlak?" Vilkas muttered behind him, but neither man looked away from the dangerous beast.

"From the mountainous regions in the south. A very powerful clan of nomads. I haven't heard word from them in some time. Strange, they never leave their pack."

He was unable to ponder further, however, as she lunged forward with talons spread and mouth agape to expose a neat row of slavering fangs. Farkas' sword clinked into her mouth, pausing her charge midflight and she gnawed angrily on the steel. Without flinching, Farkas began to shift and Vilkas swiftly moved in front of Kodlak to serve as bodily protection.

"Go, Kodlak, we'll handle it from here," Vilkas said calmly as his brother fully transformed and stepped in to stand between the Companions and the newcomer. Farkas, as a wolf, was large and could tower over any other Companion in the Circle readily. The silver wolf snarled and backed further into the bridge's tunnel… and closer to Whiterun. As the Companions, it was their duty to protect the town.

The Companion leader slowly sidestepped over to the side of the bridge's mouth, looking up at Aela, who leaned over the stone railing. "Let them run Vilkas. Your brother will bring her back to us once they've been released from the calling." Smeared with mud and grime, Vilkas' face tightened as he stared in surprise at his leader. Reluctantly, he stepped aside and the silver wolf slammed into Farkas to have the two tumble down the creek.

Kodlak squinted up to the blue sky with a stern frown. The sun was already rising bright overhead and if the two were spotted, it would be the end of them. The guards did not take werewolf sightings lightly.

"Get her out of here, Farkas!" Aela shouted with her bow firmly in hand. Below them, Farkas detangled himself and nipped lightly on the silver's hindquarters. With a snarl and a yelp, they began charging out into the prairie.

As they disappeared into the grasses, Kodlak's pleasant smile slowly transformed into a considering frown. Aela leaned down from her perch and her leader arched a brow. "This is why I dislike having you run together. Things can only get worse."

Kodlak smiled wanly and looked out onto the horizon where the two werewolves had disappeared. Something was familiar with this newcomer and it was putting him on edge, but it certainly wasn't because she was a different clan.

The air smelled good, fresh and full of new things to discover, but she didn't have time to wander. Behind her, at a full gallop, was a male and certainly the largest she had ever seen. His tongue rolled out of his mouth and he carefully began catching up to her slowing gate. But, just as suddenly, he veered off and disappeared into the nearby brush along the mountain range. She heard a faint snarl and a young sabercat launched out from its hiding place, with the male werewolf close behind.

Ahead, a looming castle stood nestled on a hill and she began picking her way around it. All she cared for was the hunt and satisfying a craving that ran deep into her core. Above her, along the wall, she heard startled shouts and voices echoing in the courtyard. Before she knew it, a piercing pain raced through her veins from an arrow wedged neatly in her thigh. Yelping, she stumbled and suddenly, her rage melted away to leave her in a crumpled heap; human again. The beast's hunger and strength ebbed until she was alone, gulping for air. Her armor and clothes were long gone; abandoned beneath the bridge where she shifted. Naked, cold, and in pain, she gasped.

Saska grappled with the arrow shaft protruding from the outside of her upper thigh, clutching at it in desperation. The masculine voices from atop the wall transformed from rage to hunger and she was minutely aware of how exposed she was. Planting one foot firmly onto the earth, she began dragging the injured leg along and tried ignoring the trickle of blood against her skin.

"What do you know, the beast was a pretty little thing," a harsh voice cooed and she felt the ground vibrate with heavy metal boots. She spun to glower at the sooty faces of the bandits. They were covered with weeks of refuse and their armor were mere pieces collected from their quarries.

"Get away," she hissed, pulling herself a little further from the looming figures. Saska tumbled to her stomach, but continued the desperate crawl to freedom. She had just reached the dirt and brick of the main road toward Whiterun again, but if she continued, she would have to get over a little outcropping of rock first. If only her rage hadn't wavered. She would have been able to heal comfortably if the arrow hadn't remained and even, perhaps, beat the divines out of the bandits who caused her so much pain.

She unwillingly cried out as one of the men placed a steel boot on her calf and let it bite down on her skin. A woman in Skyrim, alone and without guard, was fair game if she was unable to protect herself. And if they learned how to contain the werewolf and the swift healing the beast provided, they would have a constant slave to please them; no matter what torture they provided.

Saska's hand slowly grabbed a fistfull of dirt and pebbles, but her gaze never wavered from the enemy. The moment they reached down for her, she would fight. A few seconds to escape could be just enough to be out of reach. If only she had gotten access to Whiterun where food and a warm bed were waiting.

Then she realized… they were no longer admiring her with an insatiable hunger. Instead, they were gaping at the outcropping above her. Swiftly glancing up, her jaw dropped at the bloody mess. As a wolf, she had recognized him as a formidable male and a temporary pack partner, but as a human, she knew the heavily breathing werewolf towering above her was Farkas. Dimly, she recalled his playful chase of the young sabercat and she immediately knew he had gotten the kill. The fur on his muzzle and the ivory of his teeth were stained crimson and he reeked of death.

His breathing was raspy, but solid as he studied the men in front of her. Even though she knew the man beneath the fur, Saska couldn't help feeling hesitant. She knew what it was like to give into the blinding rage and power of a transformation. Sometimes, onlookers became victims on mere accident. Even if Farkas recognized her as a beast, it didn't necessarily mean he was there to help her. Did he know how to control his rage? Nevertheless, she couldn't help, but feel hopeful that he would do what she could not as a naked, half starved human.

Farkas raised his head and howled, the noise echoing far into the sky. It caused the ghostly hairs on her arms stand on end and the bandits unconsciously took a step back. The apparent leader of the group waved his gang towards the castle.

"The bitch has a mate, run!" he cried, spinning on his heel and only leaving fear behind. If she were a simple human, she too, would have wanted to flee from the eerie howl, but with her own life-experience, she knew exactly what the howl meant.

The howl of the hunt.

As the men turned tail, Farkas leaped from his perch to land almost atop of her. His hindlegs landed on either side of her hips and she could smell the copper-sweetness of blood on his breath as his muzzle nearly brushed her cheek. Turning her face away, she clenched her eyes shut. If he intended, as a Companion, to kill her for turning, now would be a valid chance. His jaws wrapped around her throat and she felt the finality of life. She thought of the past she had lived and the potential future she would never get to experience. It just didn't seem fair.

Instead, to her surprise, the werewolf only clamped down enough to hold and then tenderly helped her sit up. The moment he leaned down over her with his shoulder pushing into her chest, she knew his request. Without another hesitation, she twisted her fingers into his fur and pulled herself up onto his shoulders. Tightening her hold, she chewed on her lower lip.

The ride would _not_ be comfortable and her prediction was spot on. The second he knew she had a firm hand on the flesh of his neck and shoulders, Farkas lunged forward. Each launch sent her jerking on his back and sliding across the vertebrae of his spine. The arrow in her leg stung with every jagged movement. The only way to stop her whimpers and cries of pain was to bite down on the tip of her tongue firmly. Saska held her tongue as they crossed the plains.

The territory was unknown to her, but she knew Whiterun was in the opposite direction. Even with the Companions inside, the common folk would never accept a naked and injured woman riding in on a werewolf. Wherever Farkas was taking them, he seemed quite confident they would be safe.

Surprisingly, the trip wasn't as long as she had assumed. He slowed to a trot as they reached a rocky overhang. A saber resting inside stood and galloped away the moment it spotted them and it gave her a chance to absorb their resting place.

A body of a poacher lay further inside with a multitude of deer skulls. His skin was already pale and rotted from time and, her guess, the occasional munch from the tiger. What truly caught her attention was the bedroll and abandoned fire, long since tended. It was inside enough to be protected from the wind, but out enough to allow smoke to rise safely upwards. Fresh water trickled from a brook and small lakebed nearby, warming in the risen sun.

Safe enough.

When Farkas stopped, she tried to relinquish her hold and didn't realize how stiff her fingers would be. He waited patiently with bright, intelligent eyes watching her from the side. As soon as her feet touched the ground, she wavered at the immense pain racing from her leg. Saska leaned her weight into the side of the Companion and nearly fell over when he rose back onto his hind legs for easy travel. His taloned fingers caught her and held her arms to ease off any weight.

"Furs?" She asked, looking up at him. Farkas snorted and carefully turned her toward it. With his support from behind, she steered herself forward with one little hop at a time. It was inches away when the werewolf behind her stiffened and the beastial gasps of change morphed into the breathing of a human. He took great care to hold her enough to support the leg, but not to spear her with a talon as the change took him.

She remained still, for his beast's sake and squeaked when Farkas' arm caught the back of her knees and she landed in his arms. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms firmly around his neck and tried her best to avoid his stare. She was suddenly aware that they were both lacking any sort of clothing and very, very alone.

"Here," He grunted, taking the few final steps to the bedroll and gently placing her on it. It was made on-the-go, with furs and a little straw, but it was comfortable enough. Without another thought, she wrapped a deer hide over her shoulders to soak warmth back into her skin… and did her very best to avoid any uncomfortable gazes on exposed skin. However, her plan was only half-baked and she cringed inwardly. For all she knew, while she was looking away, Farkas was admiring every inch. Unlike her, he seemed nonplussed with their current predicament and probably would have acted the same even _with_ clothes.

"Thank you," she said quietly, pulling the hide's corners closer against her chest. Farkas grunted and settled down across from her. His calf brushed her thigh as he leaned over and examined the protruding arrow. Her stare followed his and she swallowed hard. As an adventurer and hunter, she wasn't one to cringe easily at the sight of most injuries - no matter how gruesome. However, the sharp flares of agony that seared into the very bone made her want to change her mind. Blood oozed thickly from the gaping hole to stain the entire area in a sticky red.

The last time she had shed a tear was heading down the slope from her village, but she allowed one to momentarily escape. In a single night, her entire world warped into a frenzy of pain, monsters, and death. Farkas clicked his tongue under his breath and his large, calloused hands carefully flexed the soft skin around her wound.

"This needs t'be fixed. Now." He droned out casually, grabbing a fistful of brush to wipe the blood away. It was immediately tossed into the fire pit. Her stare bore directly into the branch and wished she were a mage to set the entire thing ablaze. She was no mere harpy and knew the repercussions of suffering from an arrow wound and no outlook was pretty. There were only two choices: suffer through extreme amounts of pain to remove the arrow and shaft or suffer a long, painful death of puffy infections.

Steeling herself, she ignored all aspects of their nakedness to search icy blue eyes. "What do you need me to do?"

Farkas arched a brow and carefully got to his feet; muscles flexing beneath tanned skin… it was hard not to notice. Her face warmed the moment he paused and she realized what - exactly - she was level to. It took all of her willpower not to steal a peek, but she could guess that he never chased a woman away with the weight he carried between his thighs. Her peripheral vision was excellent.

"Keep pressure on the leg," he said calmly and ambled toward the trickling brook. With a muttered curse, she returned to brood over the arrow. The blood was seeping thickly now and most of the pieces of leather were full hides rather than strong strips. However, the tie for her hair, was a well enough temporary. In an attempt to prevent any use of the torn muscles, she slipped the strap beneath and over to tie right above the puncture. She couldn't stop the cry from escaping as the pressure tightened and it was almost worth praying to the divines just to slice the leg clean off instead.

Saska didn't realize her eyes had closed nor did she notice Farkas' approach until he was bending over her with his hands clasped on hers. He didn't give her a moment to hesitate and with a grunt of effort, yanked the ends of the knot tight. Out of instinct, her curled fist slipped away to connect with the sharp curvature of his jaw. Farkas toppled onto his hip and she could see smoldering beneath disrupted bangs.

"Ouch." He said dryly, but chuckled as he rubbed the sore spot.

As the fire in her leg adjusted to the new discomfort, she hissed at him. "Next time, you warn a woman before you try to rip off a limb!"

"There won't be a next time," he replied darkly and got back to his feet.

The reprimanding retort weakened as he wandered off again, this time dragging the hunter's corpse out and away from the outcropping. To remain focused, she busied herself by renewing the fire with the small collection of dried wood. Clearly, the hunter - or poacher - was planning on staying the night. No common passerby would spend a day collecting dead branches or logs next to the bedroll.

Having a fire was an advantage against beasts, the cold, and even nightly terrors. Best if one didn't run out of fuel halfway through a rainy night. From her village, an elder had taught most of the folk the basics of fire control. While she couldn't set an enemy aflame, she could certainly generate a little spark for camp. With a significant amount of natural ease, she placed her dominant hand beneath the base of wood. Her fingers dug deep into the ashes; soft and sandy, but smelled stale. Closing her eyes, she focused on the swirling energy that pumped with her own heart. Pooling it in her chest, she gritted her teeth and felt the woosh of a new flame.

When Farkas returned, the fire was crackling away. He was wearing the leather slacks from the hunter with the hunting knife and tunic firmly in hand. The clothes were stained with use and death, a few tearings, but they clearly still held a purpose. Farkas looked overly large in them, but he didn't share any complaint. Saska eyed the small blade warily, well aware of the next step in a gritty process.

The iron still dripped from when he had washed it in the stream, but as he knelt down beside her, he shoved the blade directly into the fire's coals. The water hissed off the metal and the two silently watched the blade grow gold with heat. The tunic was tossed in her general direction and she caught it out of reflex. Without further consideration, she pulled it over her head and felt extremely small. Like a nightgown, it hung from her smaller frame, but she appreciated the bit of cover. Nevertheless, she blushed at the thought. In her pack, men never ran with women when the moon called. It was just common knowledge.

Farkas gave her a meaningful look. "I've run with Aela, y'know. Besides, you got nothin' I haven't seen before."

Saska opened her mouth to retort, but hesitated. How was one supposed to even respond to that? He wasn't much older than her, clearly, but his life seemed to have provided him with much more experience than she. It wasn't that she didn't _like_ crawling into another's bed every once and a while, but sometimes… the divines simply didn't provide the time.

"What are you called?" Farkas asked quietly, pushing the coals closer to the knife.

Suddenly, she felt the fool. He was helping a complete stranger - her - survive and she was childish enough to withhold her own name.

"Saska," she said, equally soft.

"Good name." He glanced up at her with a gentle smirk, his cold gaze suddenly warm.

She rubbed the corner of her jaw. "Thank you, for helping me. I didn't mean to lose control."

Farkas snorted, withdrawing the scalding red blade from the flames. "You might want to wait on that thanks."

Both of them knew the dangers she was about to face. Without a healer or a temple, crude modifications needed to be made. The arrow _had_ to be removed, but since the tutelage under her father, she knew no arrow could be yanked out. Any self respecting warrior knew that. Farkas was no exception.

"I promise not to strike you this round," Saska ground out, bracing herself back on her palms. Her fingers dug deep into the hide and she felt tendons ache at the strain. Farkas shrugged as he positioned himself over the arrow. His free hand grasped her knee and steadied the trembling, but before he lowered the blade, his gaze softened.

"Y'shouldn't look," he warned, nodding his head toward the rest of the bedding. Without further encouragement, Saska laid herself into the furs and stared openly at the rock above her head. She didn't want a warning, didn't want pity. It wasn't the warrior's way. Nords drank in mead halls to celebrate the pain of victory, not pathetic screams.

So when the blade punctured the skin next to the arrow shaft, her scream transformed into a gurgle of protest. Farkas placed a firmer hand on her knee as she thrashed, but to her, it only increased the punishment. The smell of cooked meat filled her nostrils and she gagged at the realization of it being her own. In a panic, she gulped for air, snarling and hissing out the agony racing through every fiber of her being.

Farkas lowered the blade again, running it down in the opposite direction toward her knee. Saska let the swears escaping past her lips grow more colorful with each moment, pounding the dirt and furs to release the budding tension. The pain was her prey and she damn well intended to overcome it.

He dropped the blade moments later; tossing it back into the flames where it sizzled with boiling blood. Using his hands, he carefully peeled the two strips of her thigh away from the incision and then studied her. "Grab the arrow," he ordered and Saska refused to hesitate. With a swift yank, the arrow was free without damaging the site further. She threw the arrow across the cave and it ricocheted against the stone.

Gasping for breath, she clutched for her thigh and grasped it as tight as she could. It did little to subside the shrieks of torture, but it was all she could manage. A Nord acknowledged the source and fought against it.

Farkas carefully pushed the two folds of flesh together once more and carefully guided her hand on top of his own. With grim determination, she stared at the gash oozing blood. It was slower than what it had been before, the strip of leather from her hair serving its purpose around her thigh. As she held on, Farkas once again withdrew the scorched blade from the flame and began seaming the skin back together.

Not thinking about it helped, but it wasn't long before charred meat reached her nostrils. Between the sweetness of blood and saltiness of cooked meat, it almost reminded her of home - hunting elk and moose high up in the mountains. On the thirteenth spring of her life, her mother had introduced her to skinning and preparing meals for their clan. It hadn't been an easy job and she had sobbed heedlessly with her first kill, but the thrill of the hunt had never sated since. The beast blood ran hot through her veins.

Farkas leaned back on his heels and wiped a brow with the back of his bloodied hand. Both of them were panting, but it was she who couldn't stop trembling. He tossed the dagger away and stood. His hands and forearms were stained red and no matter where she looked, there were pools of crimson flickering in the flame's glow.

"Should work for now. There's a temple in Whiterun," he said gruffly, motioning to her blistering skin.

"I'll survive," Saska said dryly, ignoring the constant throb. "I'm surprised after attacking your Kodlak that you would want to help me."

Farkas shrugged, gazing out on the horizon. "Skjor says I've got the strength of Ysgramor, and my brother has his smarts."

Saska smiled. "This Skjor might have it wrong. You knew how to patch me up," she said sweetly. For the briefest of moments, she noted the ghost of a smirk on his face as he returned to studying her.

"Just make sure I won't regret it," he replied, bending down and scooping her into his arms. Startled, Saska clung to his shoulders as he strolled casually to the stream until he was ploughing through the water. Once the two of them were surrounded, he set her back down to bathe in the pool.

The water was crystal clear and only a few inches deep, soaking only the tails of her makeshift-nightgown. Nevertheless, the temperature was something ill wanted. Even with the warmth of the sun, it was still freezing enough for her to clutch at herself and fight off the bumps on her skin. Ignoring her complaints, Farkas leaned down beside her and began scrubbing his arms free of blood.

Beyond his hunched form, Saska made out the lurching forms of horses and riders - heading straight for them. She stiffened, preparing for the worst. There were two and she immediately recognized the woman from before: Aela. The other, she could only assume was Farkas' brother only from the close facial structure. If Farkas had noticed them sooner, he gave no hint at it, but rather continued washing his hands free of blood. Saska, on the other hand, had barely made a dent of the drying mess covering her entire left leg.

Both Companions were mounted on towering black beasts, similar to the small stable she had worked as a child. They snorted and stomped sharp hooves as the two riders reined them in, but Saska knew they were more afraid of the wolves pacing inside each of them than having an itch for a run.

"You really didn't bother hiding your tracks at all, ice-brain. A whelp could have tracked you the same," Aela taunted, keeping one hand on her bow. The other reached behind her and she flung and overly large sack to the ground. From the clinking inside, she knew it was Farkas' abandoned armor.

Farkas stood between her and them, but Saska suddenly felt afraid. Both Companions had shown an inkling to kill her rather than deal any sort of business. Three werewolves against one was a promising murder ground… with her failing to be the victor.

"Kodlak want us?" Farkas asked as he searched the sack and began withdrawing heavy steel pieces of armor.

"Kodlak wants _her_," Farkas' brother retorted, pointing directly at Saska. She bristled at him, but carefully debated her options; which were too few already. Running was an impossibility, at least not until her leg was examined by an appropriate healer. Fighting seemed more like a suicide run than anything honorable - not worth the effort. She would have to follow and see where the future laid.

"She's injured," Farkas continued, sidestepping to reveal her to the other Companions. Aela slid from the saddle and approached; far away enough for Saska's comfort, but close enough to threaten the border.

"So the hunter became the hunted?" Aela mocked, her smile turning sly. "Vilkas, she'll ride with you. I'll ride on ahead to share the good news that our shield-brother has been found."

Her words were deliberate and cut like ice. The good news was solely for him. It was a shame that the 'outsider' wasn't dead. Saska scowled at her as Aela leapt back into the saddle. With the jerk of the reins, her mount spun and galloped back the way they came - across the plains.

Vilkas and Farkas. She recalled Farkas' words implying their combined strength and intelligence. The differences and similarities were eerily placed and Farkas' statements were true through physical representation alone. While Farkas was brutish and rugged, Vilkas was petite and cunning.

"Can you walk?" Vilkas asked, but directed the question to his brother.

"Yeah," Farkas nodded and he turned swiftly to offer a hand toward Saska. Suddenly, she appreciated his ruggedness. Vilkas, with more attention to detail and time, would have scooped her up and plopped her on the saddle without a second thought. It would have left her honor and dignity wounded and possibly in disrepair when in front of a Companion. Farkas, uninterested in the easy route, understood the simplistic need for honor - especially in her state. What little was left from being nearly naked, injured, and a foreigner in their lands.

So, with patience, he carefully supported her as she stood and hobbled toward the horse. Vilkas silently looked on as the two pushed and pulled until she was sitting comfortably side-saddle behind him. Satisfied with their work, Farkas shared one more glance with her before patting the horse's hindquarters.

"You should change first," Vilkas interjected at his brother. "You wouldn't be much good to us in _that_." He motioned toward the damaged trousers.

Saska couldn't resist the snort. If Farkas wanted to, his energy was probably stable enough to handle another transformation. As Farkas walked back toward the fire to change, Vilkas twisted his head and scowled at her.

"I don't know where you're from white wolf, but we have rules here that you _will _follow. Kodlak says he will explain everything when we return, but the rest of the Circle wants you _dead_. If you hurt my brother, in any way, when you gave in to the call, I will end your life here and now."

Saska studied him coolly and she had enough nerve to carefully place her hands on his pauldrons to steady herself. She knew she had no right to give him any sort of attitude, especially considering how hospitable Farkas had been, but still…

"Your brother saved my life and my honor. I owe him more than a life debt," She said seriously.

Vilkas' face softened. "Sounds like him," he whispered with a smile. She could see his mind delve deep to find particular memories. He jerked his head away until all she could do was stare at his ear. "You are the first werewolf we have encountered in a long time who isn't feral or destroyed. Aela and I can sometimes get… competitive."

Saska sighed and rubbed her jaw absently. "I understand the need to protect family." She knew all too well, but those memories belonged to her. The rest of their wait continued in silence with both of them absorbed deep in the past.

"Let's go," Farkas announced, stepping up alongside their mount. Vilkas nodded, clicked his tongue, and they began the slow walk back to Whiterun. The ride was a lot easier than the escape on Farkas' back and it gave her enough to be consciously aware of how the high the shirt rode up her thigh.

"How many of you have beast blood?" She asked casually, yanking down the edges of the shirt. Her efforts were fruitless, but it prevented her from squirming further.

"Only the Circle and it is a well kept secret. We would like to keep it that way," Vilkas answered curtly, his eyes scanning the horizon ahead.

He disliked her, that much was certain. Saska knew she would never gain his trust for a long time coming, but she didn't mind the blunt information he provided. Now that she had time to ponder, memories flashed of a time sitting at her father's ankles, begging for stories. Once, he even shared a tale of a Skjor and Kodlak facing down over a hundred orcs; it wouldn't surprise her if the Kodlak she met and the Skjor Farkas mentioned were the same from the stories.

In the silence, her stomach gurgled and she blushed. Now that the strain and stress of injuries had worn off, her body clearly was returning to its original demands. Both Vilkas and Farkas chuckled at her and she could feel the heat rise even further across her skin.

"When was the last time you ate?" Farkas asked, keeping one hand on the horse's hindquarters as he walked.

"A long time ago," Saska admitted. "I have news from Helgen and Riverwood so I thought I would grab food in Whiterun. I… didn't think things would have happened the way they did."

Vilkas was scowling, but Farkas continued studying her innocently enough. "What news?"

She frowned, recalling how the soldiers had tossed her throat onto the chopping block and then… "A dragon destroyed Helgen, then headed north. I came here to notify the Jarl _and_ request support for Riverwood."

Vilkas snorted, twisting in the saddle to study her. "It seems you might have a reason to enter Whiterun after all, outsider."

"That's what I thought, but then I was intercepted by the Companions," Saska mocked in return.

"The Companions are my family," Farkas interjected. "We fight so other people don't have to. We bring honor and glory to ourselves and to each other. But, we can make mistakes too."

Saska gently leaned her head on the back of Vilkas' backplate. The metal was smooth and warm from soaking in the sun. As her brain numbed, she stole a glance down to Farkas who was watching her intently. With a brief smile of gratitude, she slipped into slumber; unable to curtail the craving any longer.

When Saska awoke next, it was to the groan of something heavy grinding through dirt and stone. Out of sheer survival from too many nights alone, Saska jerked upright and found herself gaping at the gates to Whiterun. Two guards, decorated with the yellow and tawny colors of the town, were slowly pushing the wooden doors ajar; just enough for their mount to pass through. The sun was already past its zenith and well into late afternoon, but Saska wasn't surprised.

She had been so wary in her trek through the Barrow, she had chosen to push on than rest when the time had come. Missing a night's rest _and_ transforming had definitely taken a toll on her strength. The nap certainly returned some of her lost vigor and Vilkas didn't seem to mind serving as a temporary resting place. He had smelled of soot, leather, and sweat. It had been comforting to fall asleep to - just knowing someone else was there.

"You're awake," Farkas announced, looking up at her with a ghostly grin.

"Rescued someone have you? It's always an honor to see the Companions at work," the guard interjected, waving them forward.

Vilkas nodded before clicking the horse on. Saska clung to his pauldrons, but watched like a stunned child. The town was busy with merchants and townsfolk milling about. An older woman was hammering away a piece of steel and the sound reverberated against the surrounding homes. Overall, the town was pleasing to the eye and pleasant enough for her to be impressed. She had never been so deep into the lands of Skyrim before, but she definitely liked what she saw.

They rode through the market square where she saw stalls filled with fresh produce and shiny baubles. Children ran to them, whispering and giggling at each other.

"Farkas! What'd you bring back?" A brave boy shouted, tugging on Farkas' gauntlet.

To her surprise, Farkas reached down and scooped up one of the girls - a soft blonde who squealed with delight. With ease, he set her on his shoulder as they walked with the other children begging for a turn of their own. The children went with them and cheered as their mount galloped up the stairs and into a courtyard with a very sick tree. It branches cast straggly shadows and what leaves remained were withered and brown. Farkas kept the girl on his shoulder as they approached a temple with a weaving symbol of Kynareth ingrained on the door.

A priestess in the plain robes of worship stood alongside, with her fingers steepled together. She approached when Vilkas slid from the saddle. To her surprise, he reached up and gently grabbed her hips for an easy slide to the ground. Saska's face flushed as the shirt rode higher in the floundering, but it remained just so for the majority of her dignity to prevail. Her barefeet landed onto the cobblestone, but Vilkas' protective streak won out. He refused to let go and supported most of her weight and balance before the priestess.

Vilkas carefully leaned down toward her ear and the skin on her neck bristled. Instead of the verbal jab she had expected, his tone was simply of concern. "You're awfully thin," he muttered before pulling away, his brow furrowed.

Saska shrugged. Scavenging for leftovers only took one so far. Of course with her constant activity regime, the little food took her nowhere.

"What have you brought me, Companion?" The priestess asked formally, eyeing Saska until she shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny.

"An injured traveller," Vilkas replied, his voice like silk. "We seek your counsel and aid."

Saska could do little to protest as Vilkas lifted and twisted her just so the injury was easily exposed for the priestess. He would have acted the same way hefting a sack of potatoes. The priestess bent down and examined the wound until she nodded. The leg was truly unpleasing to the eye with blistered skin and stained with blood, but it still was only a field dressing.

"This can be healed. I will accept her into the temple."

Vilkas nodded and with a minor glance toward his brother - who was preoccupied with entertaining the children - began helping her hobble after the priestess. Saska stared at the ground to concentrate firmly on her good foot shuffling across stone and then wood planks. Her feet had calloused well over time, but she still felt like falling over. Vilkas had her injured thigh scooped up onto his forearm and off the ground with the other arm securely around her waist for support. It was slow going, but less painful than what it could have been without him.

"A Companion will fetch you once they're finished. Kodlak wishes to see you."

Saska nodded curtly, her brow furrowed in concentration. Inside, the room was spacious and filled with crisp beams of light. The center of the room was a shallow basin filled with, what Saska could only imagine as, blessed water. The reflections bounced across the walls and ceiling, giving the entire space an aura of tranquility. The priestess stood at the foot of large stone table stationed off to the side of the room and Vilkas carefully led Saska toward it. Many of the tables were occupied with distressed townsfolk who stifled their moans into linen cloth. Each table was tended by a woman in the robes of Kynareth; encouraging their patients to drink or rest under the watchful eye of the goddess' shrine. The entire room smelled of a sweet incense and reminded Saska of the first spring bloom.

Temples for the Nine were strictly for larger towns and cities, but most families had one or two small shrines of their own depending on preference. Saska knew her family, in particular, had a shrine to Arkay when she was a child. Her hand instinctively went to her throat, where her father's amulet had been hours earlier and found the space devoid of any relic.

As Vilkas helped her sit onto the stone slab, he motioned to her throat absently with a brow slowly arching upwards. She bowed her head, watching as ebony strands fell to cascade her face. "It's nothing."

The Companion grunted and Saska silently thanked him for not pushing the subject further. The clinking of glass refocused her attention back to the priestess healer and she watched as two rosy tinted vials the size of her fist were set next to her. Vilkas' throaty chuckle was quiet enough to slip past the priestess, but loud enough for Saska's sensitive ears.

"Drink these, it will help with the pain and any potential disease." With her first task complete, the priestess turned and went back toward the supply closet.

Oh. "Maybe I should suggest werewolves can't contract diseases," Saska muttered as she fingered the smooth finish on the first bottle. Vilkas snickered again and his thin lips curved into a deadly smirk.

"Drink it," he ordered and he began walking away with a half hearted wave in her general direction. "Don't forget to enjoy the taste."

The moment he slipped through the door, Saska wrinkled her nose and uncorked the top. The smell was an overpowering stench of rotten seaweed; an unsatisfyingly familiar smell of alchemist shops or herb gathering.

"No, not _Cure Disease_ first," the priestess said harshly and she withdrew the bottle from Saska's fingers. She handed over the other one first with a nod of encouragement. "You will need a _Potion of Healing_ first to ease the pain and," she said with a wink, "the unusual taste of the second."

Saska recognized the sweet earthy taste as she downed the first bottle. Her skin tingled as the brew raced through her system until she was comfortable numb. For a moment, she felt levitated and bodiless; floating effortlessly through a darkening abyss, until the second bottle was pushed firmly against her lips.

"Now swallow," a woman's voice soothed and without hesitation, Saska obeyed. The foul burn racing down her throat twisted her stomach and she squirmed with a sputtering cough. "No you don't! Keep it down, that's it, good girl. Now, you rest and we'll get you patched up."

The world spinned on an axis as Saska was slowly pushed down onto the slab. The ceiling's colors continued to swirl until all she saw were the dancing reflections from the shallow pool behind closed eyelids. Her last thought was the ground rumbling beneath her feet and cold, scorching crimson eyes studying her from atop a wall.

_Ahrk ful nii gon, Dovahkiin_. _So it begins indeed._

* * *

**Author's Corner**: _This would be my first story published from almost a five year hiatus. Yikes, I suddenly feel the pressure! This story was born through a (current) playthrough of Skyrim with 100+ mods and a frustration with the scripted interaction with NPCs. My version of Skyrim is very immersive (requiring food, drink, and warmth to survive) and I enjoy the interactions between this harsher environment and my Dragonborn._

_One mod in particular allows the player (and any NPC) become werewolves outside of the Companions as well as providing customization with various skin and eye colors. This literally allows my Dragonborn to run as a werewolf with the rest of the Companions. _

_And so, Saska was born. _

_I certainly hope you enjoyed this first chapter as much as I enjoy exploring the literary world of the Elder Scrolls universe. I have every intention of continuing this story soon - as long as work allows. I don't wish to bore you further, but if you're keen to learning about future updates, please check my profile for more details on my current status!_


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